


Bird of Prey, Way of War

by Rilan



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Adventures in Bounty Hunting, Angst, Canon Rewrite, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mercenary Original Female Character, Missing Scenes, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slight Canon Divergence, slow to medium burn, the Razor Crest LIVES
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-18 03:22:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28985565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rilan/pseuds/Rilan
Summary: A Mandalorian with a stolen quarry finds himself in need of allies; Fennec Shand's partner finds herself in need of a job.---They couldn’t take official Guild contracts anymore, not the way the Mandalorian had left Nevarro and certainly not after he’d gunned down Karga. Still, keeping the ship running and supplied while hiding the child was not cheap; they still needed money and they still both had a very specific skill set. Coruscant was officially part of the New Republic and thus did not have any outward bounty hunting advertised though the government did occasionally sanction “assisted captures” of criminals that paid in credits. If you knew the right people though, someone was always willing to pay for someone else to get their hands dirty.This particular contact had come from Toro Calican’s pockets. His loss was their gain.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	1. Prologue

The Exeter landed with a soft thump of scattering sand. The Mos Eisley hanger was quiet and deserted, the owner of this particular hanger paid well to not ask questions. The loading ramp slowly lowered and Fennec Shand poked her head out, pistol raised in caution, and was pleased to see nothing but sun and sand. She was not pleased, however, that she had to come back to Tatooine to suss out the recently reactivated bounty on her head. It wasn’t Karga, he wasn’t _that_ senseless. The New Republic couldn’t reach her here and, if she was lucky, she could grease the right palms to find out who reactivated the bounty. Someone always knew something.

She ducked back inside, holstering her gun, and listened to the soft footsteps behind her. Fennec turned, draping a bandolier across her chest, and smirked at her partner. The girl looked similar enough; they both stood at similar heights and the black overcoat, with its long tails and broad armored shoulders, and face obscuring helmet made them look nearly identical. Fennec reached behind the girl, tucking her long strawberry braid into her collar, and patted her shoulder.

“You think we should split up?”

Fennec nodded, “No one in the Guild is stupid enough to come after me – they know my reputation.”

“Ok. I’ll resupply the Exeter and you’ll fill up on ammo?”

“We’ll meet back at the ship at nightfall.”

The two parted ways through the dusty streets of Mos Eisley. The girl had traveled with Fennec to Tatooine several times before and each time was a surprise. The spaceport stood outside of any external conflicts; Imperial or Republic. Mos Eisley survived on its own – lawless and dangerous. Still, no one asked any questions and if you had the credits you could buy almost anything. Unluckily, she wasn’t looking for anything exotic; she enjoyed a good chase. The girl stopped at a food stall, mulling over her options. They never bought more than a couple of weeks’ worth of food at a time. With Fennec’s previous employers all getting snatched up by the New Republic and squealing, they never knew if they’d need to procure another ship on the fly. The Exeter was just another ship, a temporary home, while they waited out the New Republic’s hunt.

Her comm crackled, “We’ve got a problem.” The girl stepped away from the stall, ducking into a side alley, and brought the communicator to her lips, “Oh?”

“Someone actually _was_ stupid enough to take a bounty on me.”

Dread hit her like a fist. “Who? Where?”

Fennec laughed, “I got about two steps into Chalmun’s and the bartender pointed him out to me.”

She leaned against the wall, trying to escape the blazing twin suns. “Tell me, I’ll kill him.”

Her partner chuckled, “Tempting. He’s a kid, didn’t even notice his fob blinking…too busy drinking.”

“What’s the plan?”

“How about a little game? Keep our skills sharp. You stay in Mos Eisley, see if he’s fooled by a lookalike.”

“And you?”

“I’ll lead him on a chase to the Dune Sea. Rendezvous 2300.”

The girl bought provisions and restocked the Exeter. She bided her time at Chalmun’s cantina, asked about the boy, but he had left already with a Mandalorian. Fennec was likely not in danger from the inexperienced youth but the Mandalorian? That bit worried her. There had been rumors of one who blasted their way off Nevarro with a stolen quarry… The girl returned the Exeter and waited. She methodically took apart and cleaned her pistol three times, she rechecked the supplies onboard. Anything to keep busy.

2300 came. Fennec did not return.

\---

The ride back to Mos Eisley was long, boring, and _hot_.

The Mandalorian had plenty of time to cook in his heavy beskar and stew over the stupid kid who took out their “shared” bounty and left her body to the sands and then left him for dead too. Toro Calican was never going to make it into the Guild because he was going to fucking kill him the next time he laid eyes on him. He sighed, the bounty was for Shand alive. There wasn’t even going to be any payment. 

It was past nightfall when the Dewback finally ambled towards civilization. He was still a couple of miles from Mos Eisley proper, but he had to stop to stretch his legs. There was a small building, an entry dome, which sat on the cusp of a hole in the ground. He peered over the edge, the dwelling looked to be abandoned perhaps a moisture farm. It was dead silent and blessedly dark and normally he’d find that comfortable but…he couldn’t shake the unmistakable feeling that he was being watched. He turned this way and that but there was absolutely no one.

If someone asked him later, he’d deny deny _deny_ that he didn’t see her coming. That he heard her sharp inhale before she pounced or the creak of her leather when she moved.

As it were, he _actually didn’t_ see her coming.

His only warning was the quiet hiss of a boot pivoting against the dome above him and he whipped around just in time to crash to the ground with someone on top of him. For a second he thought it was Shand, the helmet was nearly identical, but then he spotted a long amber braid whip around. His breath came out in a hard grunt, surprised to find a fist being driven into his ribs. It was uncanny; his attacker seemed to know exactly where his beskar cuirass gapped despite his cloak and they took no time in swinging their leg over him and pinning him to the ground.

He blocked another punch and brought his armored thigh up hard against their back. With a low sound, his attacker fell forward and he quickly wrapped his arms around their – oh _her_ – back and neck and squeezed. Her hands lashed out at any opening she could find but it was useless. Despite her sharp jabs that did in fact _hurt_ , he was slowly squeezing the breath from her and letting the hard beskar of his vambraces bite into her back. She grunted against him, struggling against the iron grip of his arms. The girl’s knees drew up tight against his hips and dug into the sand, looking for purchase. She pushed, hard, and his torso began to lift. It was almost enough leverage but between his weight and the beskar, he managed to keep his hold on her and flatten himself back on the ground. He felt a small pistol under her long overcoat pressing against him and considered attempting to disarm her.

Instead, she slammed her fist into the top of his unprotected thigh and pelvis and she missed _him_ by inches. He yanked the offending arm away from the sensitive spot and twisted it hard behind her back, earning a small cry, but giving her an opening. The girl sagged against him, cheek slapping against his chest plate.

But only for a moment.

One arm was not enough to keep her immobile; she threw her weight to the side and they rolled through the sand and perilously close to the edge of the dwelling. She managed to free both her arms and he felt her hand grope across his hip. They came to a sudden stop on the cusp of the moisture farm, his head almost dangling off the edge. She straddled his hips, and _his_ blaster was pointing at his helmeted face but his flamethrower was pointed at hers. He couldn’t quite see his attacker’s face, the visor was nearly closed, but then she lowly asked, “Vaii cuy Fennec Shand?”

The Mandalorian blinked under the helmet. _Mando’a?_ They sat in silence, weapons pointed at the other in a stalemate, until he held up a placating hand, “Ke’pare.”

He quickly scanned over her unmoving form; she lacked the sheer muscular physique of Dune but he suspected her strength was in her lower body – she’d nearly broken his hold with her legs. He could probably overpower her and toss her down into the moisture farm pit but his curiosity was piqued. Dune had ambushed him as well, now she was an ally. The girl hadn’t tried to actually hurt him and hadn’t asked about the child. He only had a handful of people not looking to shoot him in the back. She pulled the blaster back and he lowered his arm. She leaned back, blaster resting against his chest, and tilted her head, “Speak.”

“Another bounty hunter killed her.” The girl stiffened. He grasped her knees tightly, ready to unseat her if she went for his gun again. It was a good twelve feet to reach the bottom of the pit and it would be a high enough fall to temporarily stun her. He continued, “We had an agreement. She had a puck, he wanted in with the Guild…was foolish enough to take it.”

She cocked her head, voice accusatory. “Between a Mandalorian and some kid, you expect me to believe that you didn’t kill her? I know you are Guild.”

“Her bounty specified _alive_.”

Her hand suddenly came down hard next to his neck and she snapped, “What happened?”

“Not a fair fight. She was still cuffed.”

She drew back and he didn’t miss the slight tremble in her hand. The visor was pulled too far closed to see her expression but the bounty hunter had learned long ago to read people without seeing their face. Her shoulders slumped in defeat as she sharply turned away and he knew the news of Shand’s death affected her.

“He left…“ The Mandalorian trailed off. A steady, increasing in volume, beeping was cutting through the air below them. The girl’s head turned quickly to look at him. They both recognized the sound; a tracking fob. They were unmoving against the sand, her legs still squeezed snug against his hips, and his hands still locked around her knees.

She leaned down, nearly next to his helmet, and hissed, “Well it’s _not_ for me.”

A hooked staff shot up from the pit and caught on his cloak. With a yank, the pair tumbled down into the hole. They landed hard, his beskar clad forearm smacking across her midsection, and even with his helmet providing some cushion he was seeing stars. He struggled to catch his breath, stealing a quick glance to his left, and the girl was in no better shape. She was sprawled out in the sand next to him, one hand cradled her ribs and the other slowly closed around his blaster. Her chest was heaving, looking for air, but her stunned lungs were only producing a broken wheeze. He shook his head, clearing his vison, and forced himself to move.

He stood swiftly and surveyed the area; three figures emerged from the shadows of the abandoned house and the one that had pulled them down, a hulking zabrak, was coming closer. He spared a second to turn his head to tell the girl to get up but she was already on her feet. She wordlessly held his blaster out to him, keeping her head trained on the encroaching group, and he took it.

The zabrak smiled, “Mando! I came for you and the quarry. Quite the bounty on your head but you’ve even wrapped up Shand for me too. It’s a shame, you were a legend in the Guild. Now…well.”

The girl tilted her head towards the Mandalorian. She took stock of the situation; the Mandalorian was not Guild anymore, he _was_ the one who shot his way out of Nevarro, and the zabrak thought she was Shand. She could work with this. The three human men creeping towards them were armed though not with the same quality of weapons as their leader nor with much armor to speak of – a crew then.

“Tsikala?” The Mandalorian murmured.

The girl smiled underneath her visor and took a small step forward. The Mandalorian thrust out his arm and shot his grappling hook at the zabrak, letting it wrap around the hunter’s calves and yanking him down to the ground. The leader fell hard, blaster falling out of his grip, and he writhed on the ground to try to pry the cable from his legs. The cable snapped off his vambrace and the Mandalorian darted to the left, so the girl went right.

She ignored the blaster fire to her side and rolled under a shot aimed for her chest. She knew they had little time before the leader untangled himself and rejoined the fray. The girl yanked a knife from her boot and threw it into the chest of the man who had fired at her. He crumpled, blood oozing down his front, and didn’t move. There was a snarl from behind her – the zabrak was up. A hand shot out and yanked her hard to the side, she ripped her blaster from its holster just to be unceremoniously shoved behind the beskar clad Mandalorian. Two shots ricocheted off his chest, another glanced off his hip. The girl thrust her blaster under the warrior’s arm and fired.

Silence fell in the pit and the girl slowly pulled her blaster away from the Mandalorian. He surveyed the area for a moment before turning to face her, gun smoking. They looked at each other, the silence stretching, and the girl holstered her blaster before he did the same. He stepped away, patting down the dead zabrak, and pulled the still beeping tracking fob from his jacket. The fob was tossed to the ground before it was crushed under his boot.

The girl readjusted her visor, “Amateurs.”

The Mandalorian turned back to her, “As I was saying; he left me out in the dunes too.”

Her head snapped up to meet his inky gaze under the helmet. The implication was clear so she took a deep breath, “Let’s go.”

\---

He should’ve guessed her profession, she ran with Shand after all, but watching her cling to shadows and nearly disappear was impressive. Assassin? Mercenary? She was an adept fighter.

The pair slipped into the hanger’s small vestibule that ran past the mechanic’s personal rooms and opened to the hanger bay. The mechanic was loud and boisterous when the Mandalorian had met her, now everything was _too_ quiet. He drew his blaster, stilling the girl’s movement with a raise of his closed fist, and they peered into the dark bay.

Something rushed past them and they both turned, weapons raised, to see a droid run past and hide with its companions. _That_ got the Mandalorian’s attention and he quickly continued forward. The final door was wide open into the dark night and once he stepped through another voice called out.

“Took you long enough, Mando.”

The girl muttered behind him, “Ibic cuy te beroya?”

His gleaming helmet tilted towards her in an almost imperceptible nod. They pressed forward, into the bay, and saw their quarry; Toro Calican. He was standing on the cargo ramp to a ship, partially obscured by the darkness. The Mandalorian’s arm was already outstretched, blaster pointing to the wannabe Guild member, and the girl wasn’t far behind. Calican slowly walked the mechanic forward at gunpoint down the cargo ramp and in his arms – the girl squinted – a baby?

Calican was so smug, she could see it practically rolling off him and almost to confirm he snidely said, “Looks like I’m calling the shots now. Huh, partner?”

No one moved. Calican peered closer at the Mandalorian and finally saw the girl standing in his shadow. He chuckled, “Shand? No. I made sure she wouldn’t get back up. Fuck Mando, you just pick up strays?” He shook his head and then snapped, “Drop your blasters and raise ‘em.”

The Mandalorian complied faster than she thought he would, but she followed his lead and dropped her weapon next to his. He slowly raised his arms to rest his fists against the back of his helmet. Cuffs landed with a heavy thump at her feet and across the hanger Calican leered, “Cuff him. I’ll take care of you myself,” The girl ignored him and slowly bent to retrieve the cuffs. She disappeared behind the Mandalorian and Calican continued, “You’re a Guild traitor, Mando.”

She had just grabbed his wrist when she saw it – a flashbang grenade tucked between his fingers. She tapped her fingers against his wrist. _I see it_. He suddenly stiffened and she covertly looked under his arm to see Calican point his gun right in the baby’s face. Calican continued, “I’m willing to bet that this here is the target you helped escape.”

The girl slowly unhooked and prepared the cuffs, letting them clank noisily, and just as she reached up to activate the grenade, Calican _kept_ talking. “Fennec was right.” Her hands stilled against the Mandalorian’s back. “Bringing in you won’t just make me a member of the Guild. It’ll make me legendary.”

Apparently, she was taking too long for the Mandalorian’s liking because his thumb suddenly pressed against the grenade and the girl had just enough time to slap her visor all the way down before white-hot light was everywhere. She felt the air move in front of her and another surge of righteous anger propelled her forward to get to the stupid kid first. Calican was still rubbing at his eyes and shooting at the empty space where they were for a moment before he realized and by then it was too late.

The Mandalorian flanked him first and one blaster shot later, Calican was dead and rolling down the gangway of the ship. He and the mechanic rushed to the baby, who must have rolled away when Calican fell, but she stalked up to his still smoking body and planted another shot right between the eyes for good measure. It didn’t stop the rage and she was tempted to empty her clip into his body. She raised the blaster again but it was slowly pushed back down. She bit the inside of her cheek and watched as the Mandalorian knelt and checked the body, plucking a bag of credits from the corpse and crushing Fennec’s puck and fob. He returned to the mechanic.

He took the baby from her and she smiled, “Be careful with him.” The mechanic looked at the two hunters, “So I take it you didn’t get paid?” The Mandalorian didn’t reply. “Girl?”

The girl flipped open her visor, enough that the mechanic could see her eyes, “Kestrel. And no, I didn’t get paid.”

The bounty hunter sighed and dumped the majority of Calican’s purse into the mechanic’s outstretched hands.

“That cover me?”

Her smile grew, “Yeah…yeah that covers you. That’ll cover Peli nicely.” She turned to shout for her helpers, “Alright pit droids! Let’s drag this outta here.”

Kestrel tuned her out, instead focusing on the Mandalorian who was halfway up the gangway of his ship. He turned back to her, “You are a strong fighter. You have knowledge of the Guild.” He continued after a moment, “I could use a crew member of your ability, someone else to watch my back. I can pay.”

She didn’t hesitate, “Alright. I accept.”

\---

Mando’a Translations;

 _Vaii cuy Fennec Shand?_ – Where is Fennec Shand?

 _Ke'pare._ – Wait.

 _Tsikala?_ – Ready?

 _Ibic cuy te beroya?_ – This is the bounty hunter?

Tumblr - https://kestrelmando.tumblr.com/


	2. Coruscant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They couldn’t take official Guild contracts anymore, not the way the Mandalorian had left Nevarro and certainly not after he’d gunned down Karga. Still, keeping the ship running and supplied while hiding the child was not cheap; they still needed money and they still both had a very specific skill set. Coruscant was officially part of the New Republic and thus did not have any outward bounty hunting advertised though the government did occasionally sanction “assisted captures” of criminals that paid in credits. If you knew the right people though, someone was always willing to pay for someone else to get their hands dirty. 
> 
> This particular contact had come from Toro Calican’s pockets. His loss was their gain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did take some creative liberties with the Razor Crest, to make it more habitable and long haul worthy, based Kestrel’s quarters on a fanmade cross section of the Razor Crest. We are going to loosely follow S1 and most of S2, though with obvious changes to accommodate for another crew member and for Mando to have jobs inbetween while he is non-guild. I like getting the perspective of both characters, Mando and Kestrel, but as its not first person it shouldn’t be too jarring. 
> 
> Find me at https://kestrelmando.tumblr.com/

Convincing Peli to take the Exeter was an easy task. The mechanic did in fact own another hanger, though she swore the mercenary and the bounty hunter to secrecy about it. She indignantly announced it was ‘where she kept the good stuff’ and that if she was to keep the Exeter then she was going to use it. The look on the mechanic’s face when Kestrel told her it was stolen was priceless; Peli cycled through disbelief, annoyance, and finally acceptance before telling the girl to get what she needed off the ship and leave it.

Kestrel didn’t need much. She gathered her clothing, removing her armored jacket and helmet that was so similar to Fennec’s – it wouldn’t do her any favors to be mistaken for her now. She bit her lip, willing her hands to stop shaking as she packed a few bags, and went over a mental list of what she needed; clothing, weapons, toiletries, bedroll. She methodically stripped her bed and then reached underneath it to grab the small hidden box on the floor. She tucked it into her belt and took a deep breath before stepping into Fennec’s quarters.

The door slid shut with a hiss and Kestrel stood in the silence, listening to her heart pound. Tears pricked at her eyes and, alone with no expectations pressed on her, she let them fall for her mentor. She leaned against the door, arms wrapped around herself in some attempt at self-comfort, and allowed the raw heartache to take her. The tears were miserable, heated as they coursed down her cheeks. Yet another kith and kin ripped from her. Her nails bit into her palms, even through the gloves, as her hands balled into fists. When was it going to be enough? The universe seemed to enjoy tearing the ground out from under her when she least expected it.

Kestrel could practically hear Fennec’s chiding voice – ‘ _You’ve made a new deal, kid. Get to it._ ’ – so she reluctantly pushed herself off the door and wiped the tears off her face. She shuffled over the small closet and opened it, hesitantly running her fingers along a shirt that belonged to her friend. It still smelled like her soap; bright lemon and turmeric. She began to turn away when something else caught her eye, tucked into the back of the closet. Without a second thought, Kestrel plucked the familiar green cape off the rack. She grabbed a handful of the red cloth Fennec liked to braid into her hair and then left the Exeter behind.

The Mandalorian was waiting for her at his ship. He titled his head at her bedroll and bedding, glancing back up at her face. She blinked, “It’s a Razor Crest, right? One bunk. Unless you modified it?”

A sigh came through the vocoder of the helmet, “I have not.” His hand lifted briefly from his side, as if he wanted to take one of her bags, but it dropped back down quickly. “Are you ready?”

\---

He briefly showed her around the ship, though there wasn’t much to see as the Razor Crest model wasn’t known for its size. It housed a minuscule cot (if one could call it that), a fresher that had the tiniest shower she’d ever seen, and lots of storage that was split between cargo and a carbonite freezer. He took her to the cargo area, showing her a makeshift kitchenette with a pull-down table and recessed hotplate and cold storage box.

They stopped briefly at the compact carbonite freezer. The pair lingered before he finally said, “I don’t expect you’ll have to use it but I can show you.”

Kestrel looked up at him, “No need. I’m familiar.”

They continued back towards the front of the ship and up the ladder. The landing had two doors; one to the cockpit and the other to more storage and the escape pod. She squinted at him in the dim light and nodded her head towards the second level storage, “Yours or mine?” He leveled his visor with her and didn’t respond so she clarified, “One bunk and you haven’t done any modifications. So…one of us in the cot and the other in there?”

“I’ll take the cot.” He responded quickly before gesturing towards the cockpit. She set her stuff down outside the storage door and followed him.

The cockpit was small, it barely fit the pilot’s chair and two others, and the Mandalorian had to brush past her to get to the controls. She let him slide by, shivering when the cold beskar slithered across her thin shirt. He piloted the ship with ease, lifting them out of the hanger and off Tatooine before leaning over the nav-computer. Kestrel familiarized herself with the cockpit before she heard a soft coo behind her. She swiveled in her chair to see the baby peering at her from his pram.

Kestrel smiled, he was cute. The baby lifted his hands, tiny fingers making grabby motions, and she carefully lifted him into her lap. He curled into her arms and hummed contentedly, nuzzling against her jacket. When she turned back towards the viewport the Mandalorian was watching.

“He likes you.”

She smiled, “He’s sweet.” Kestrel paused. “He’s the quarry you took from Nervarro?”

The Mandalorian rasped, “Yes.” He leaned back in the pilot’s chair and continued after a moment, “There are probably some things we should go over.”

She crossed her leg over her knee, “I imagine so.”

“The helmet doesn’t come off. It’s against my creed as a Mandalorian, no one can see my face.”

“I understand. What do I call you?”

“Mando. ‘Kestrel’ is…fine?”

Nodding, she replied, “Does the child have a name?”

He slanted his head, “None that I know of. His bounty is still active.”  
The child was sleeping now, his warm breath fanning over her thumb. Kestrel dipped her head towards the nav-computer. “I assume we aren’t running with the Guild. Where are we headed?”

As they launched into hyperspace, she got her answer.

“Coruscant.”

\---

They couldn’t take official Guild contracts anymore, not the way the Mandalorian had left Nevarro and certainly not after he’d gunned down Karga. Still, keeping the ship running and supplied while hiding the child was not cheap; they still needed money and they still both had a very specific skill set. Coruscant was officially part of the New Republic and thus did not have any outward bounty hunting advertised though the government did occasionally sanction “assisted captures” of criminals that paid in credits. If you knew the right people though, someone was always willing to pay for someone else to get their hands dirty.

This particular contact had come from Toro Calican’s pockets. The boy was going to strike out first on Coruscant to build up his reputation before approaching the Guild but apparently, he just couldn’t pass up going after the infamous Fennec Shand when word got out that she had a bounty. His loss was their gain.

Kestrel slid her arm through her leather shoulder holster and slid her short jacket on after to cover her weapon. Technically, they weren’t supposed to be openly armed but she doubted anyone was going to stop a Mandalorian and tell him that. She stretched her arms above her head, fingers laced together, and groaned. She managed to get a couple of hours of sleep, though she wouldn’t call them restful hours. The small storage loft was undoubtedly much bigger than the cot her employer had claimed but he had been using it for storage. Her small cot was set up in the spot she was least likely to smack her head on the sloped ceiling and her other bags were tossed haphazardly into the corner. She honed in on the discarded durasteel armor plating immediately and she made a mental note to approach the Mandalorian about potentially repurposing it later. Oh, and about potentially adding some things like a small nightstand and a place for her gear. It was odd, though, that he wanted the tiny cot.

When she descended the ladder, he was already standing in front of his weapon’s locker. She looped her elastic around her ponytail one more time and silently stood next to him. He didn’t acknowledge her, his helmet flitting from gun to gun with the occasional sigh. The bright light in the cargo bay glinted off his beskar as he moved. Kestrel swallowed a laugh when she realized what he was doing – he knew he had to at least try to be inconspicuous and that meant no big guns he couldn’t at least partially conceal.

She crossed her arms over her chest and asked, “What can I carry for you boss?”

His head slowly turned towards her, his shoulders rose as though he was going to say something, and Kestrel met what she assumed were his eyes through the dark visor. Words never came, instead he stared. He hadn’t looked at her full on until now – she either had the visor pulled tight on a helmet or they were in the dim cockpit. She knew what he was looking at and waited.

And _waited_.

Finally she joked, “Think I should wear a helmet? It’s kind of an identifying feature.”

That shook the man out of his stupor. She blinked up at him, one brown eye and the other blue, and rose her eyebrows. She’d heard it all; that it meant she was of two minds, that she had “ghost eyes” and could see the afterlife in one eye, that she could see things others could not.

“No. They are – no. You’ll be fine.”

She turned her attention back to the armory and began to reach for a rather wicked-looking sheathed knife. She paused, hand in midair, “May I?”

He nodded and she plucked it from the wall. Kestrel carefully slid it halfway from its case, whistling at the curve and serrated teeth. She tucked it in her boot and nudged him with her foot, “Really though. If you want me to carry something I can.”

“You’ve got your pistol?”

She pulled aside the collar of her jacket to show him her holster. He pulled a compact gun with a fat short barrel from the wall, the whole thing not much bigger than her hand. When he held it out to her, she rose an eyebrow.

“Small, but powerful.”

So she took it and holstered it under her jacket, an innuendo dying on her tongue. She didn’t know what he’d think of that, at least not yet. Mando gave one last look to his amban rifle, wistfully huffing out a breath. He closed the locker and lowered the ramp, making sure the pram was synced to him before the three of them set off.

Coruscant was one of those places that lulled travelers into complacency; it was round-the-clock hustle and bustle and bright lights and glitzy clubs but step down the wrong alley or go down a few levels and there was trouble. Luckily, the meeting was taking place in one of the skyscrapers of the Uscru district, home to an obscenely wealthy client – a Mirialan – if Calican’s notes are to be believed.

The pram was never further than the Mandalorian’s elbow as they made their way through the streets. She took up position slightly behind the pair, eyes scanning the crowded streets. As she expected, the throng of people naturally parted at the mere sight of him with whispers and gasps. It was almost comical.

“Glad we’re not going into the Works. Or down any more levels.” Kestrel said quietly, knowing his helmet would allow him to pick up her words.

“We haven’t talked to the client yet.” Mando reminded her.

She sighed, “True. We’ll have to figure something out with the kid if we’re going down there.”

He stopped outside of a large high rise and motioned for her to step through the automatic door. He followed closely, head on a swivel looking for any sign of trouble. Kestrel stole a glance at him while they waited for the elevator; his helmet was fixed on the lobby of the building with one hand on his holster and the other resting on the closed pram. She mulled over whether to try to reassure him or simply let the silence stretch when her thoughts were interrupted by the elevator doors sliding open.

They had several hundred floors to go and so, once in the relative privacy of the elevator, Kestrel pulled out the slip of paper from her pocket and read it again. The beskar helmet turned at the motion so she read it aloud to remind both of them, “Vev Dano, a Mirialan. Only to be addressed as ‘Lady Dano’…potentially has several personal bounties though details are sparse.”

Mando’s voice scraped out from the helmet, “We don’t need details. Just how to find them.”

The doors opened to a large round room, bright and airy with unobstructed views of the Coruscant skyline. An attendant, a nervous-looking Twi’lek, rushed over to them and bowed her head, “Greetings. You are here about Lady Dano’s contracts?”

He simply nodded and so Kestrel spoke quickly, “Yes, thank you.”

The attendant led them to a sunken seating area and offered them refreshments, both declined and the Twi’lek disappeared to fetch her mistress. Once she was gone, Kestrel snatched a plump-looking red apple from a nearby bowl and stuffed it into her hip bag. She could practically feel the Mandalorian’s eyes on her despite the helmet and shrugged, “For the kid.”

They didn’t wait long before Vev Dano was brought before them. The Mirialan swept into the room with a long wine-colored gown that complimented her rich dark skin. Her long black hair was in a thick braid, while her face was adorned with traditional Mirialan tattoos. Kestrel blinked when her gaze fell to her; she had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. Lady Dano sat across from them, spine straight and fingers laced in her lap, and beamed.

“A Mandalorian and a mercenary, just perfect.” Lady Dano smiled, teeth blinding white and mouth stretched almost unnaturally far. “I trust you know that I have some…contracts that need completing by professionals.”

Mando coolly replied, “We would see the information first, to ensure we are a good fit for your needs.” Kestrel schooled her face into an impassive stare. The more she sat in front of the elegant woman, the more uncomfortable she became. Those eyes, dark and deep and so blue, seemed to look right through her. The Mirialan’s gaze moved between her and her partner, calculating.

Lady Dano inclined her head, “I understand. Of course, I can’t give you all the information upfront without assurance. There will be a job completed tonight to, as you say, ensure you are a good fit.” If their potential employer noticed the Mandalorian bristle she didn’t comment on it. “But to answer your question; there are four contracts. A pair of slavers, a thief, a scientist, and a war criminal.”

The attendant swept back in with a small tray for her mistress. She bent to set it on the low table when Lady Dano’s hand shot out and curled around the girl’s cheeks, squeezing them hard. The attendant whimpered and their contact never took their eyes off them. Instead she sweetly asked, “What have I said about interrupting my meetings?”

The Mandalorian didn’t move next to her, still immobile. The attendant was shoved away with little regard and Kestrel made sure to keep her eyes on the Mirialan, ignoring her first impulse to track the fleeing girl with her eyes. Kestrel glanced at her partner and took his silence as an agreement. She turned back towards Vev Dano, “And the trial run?”

The Mirialan leaned forward then, eyes shining and smile predatory, “A heist.”

\---

She wrapped another elastic around her tight bun and watched Mando pace across the short length of the ship for the fiftieth time. The child, tucked between her ankles on the floor, giggled and that is what finally breaks him out of his stupor. Unfortunately, the kid’s squealing giggles are contagious and she found herself giggling too. He whipped around towards the pair, fast enough that his cloak fanned out behind him.

“I’m _not_ a thief.”

Kestrel stood, pulling her head and face covering up partway, and approached the agitated Mandalorian. He’d already said that – twice. She crossed into his path intentionally, hoping to stop the pacing that was just ramping up her own anxiety, “I know.”

He stopped, looking down at her expectantly.

She crossed her arms, “How much did your last job pay?”

“…not enough. Split it with a ranger.”

Kestrel turned, patting her pockets for her thick leather gloves. She turned and surveyed the small cargo hold before turning back to him only to find he was already holding her gloves out to her. She took them with a nod and slipped them into her back pocket and continued, “Look you said yourself that the bounties leading up to the kid barely covered food and fuel. We can’t go to the Guild, it doesn’t matter what planet – you know they are all connected. We have to look for outside work.”

He blew out a sigh.

She rose her brow and gestured with her hand. “Mando, she is paying twenty thousand credits for this grab. _Twenty thousand_. If you are so opposed to a little thievery then I’ll go do it myself.” She waved the holo pad that Vev Dano gave them, “What’s it going to be?”

After a long pause, the Mandalorian finally replied, “Show me the specs.”

Kestrel resumed her perch on the crate and powered on the holo pad, swiping to the plans Vev Dano had meticulously laid out. Luckily, the woman had already done the preparation; she wanted them to “procure” a large Mustafar fire diamond. Mando stood silently at her side, peering over her shoulder.

Lady Dano provided a map of the Galactic Museum and its guard rotation schedule, most of it was droid powered and from a central operating hub above the museum’s public floors. She flipped through the bits about the other exhibits about the core worlds, New Republic space, the rise and fall of the Empire, and a small corner dedicated to the decimated Jedi order. She went over the specifics; the diamond was part of an exhibit on the second floor. Lady Dano had already paid off a guard to have a window briefly cracked open and the cameras in the immediate area temporarily disabled. They had to be in position at exactly forty-five minutes past midnight and they would be in and out before anyone was any wiser. Lady Dano had also provided an electronic card that would bypass surveillance for a short amount of time and had assured them she’d have a speeder nearby waiting for them.

At eleven, Mando put the child to bed and set the ship’s security protocols. They took up residence on a nearby deserted balcony and waited for their window. The pair sat in comfortable silence; Kestrel was used to long stretches of it with all the mercenary types she’d worked with before. Fennec certainly wasn’t one for idle chatter. They watched passing speeders and ships, watched the surrounding area slowly start to empty of people, and the constant buzz of chatter become replaced by the low hum of aircraft.

Her companion broke the silence, “You aren’t a Mandalorian.”

She turned to look at him, finding his black visor turned towards her. It wasn’t a question but she answered all the same, “No.”

“Are you a foundling?”

Kestrel paused. She supposed, by the explanation she’d been given many years ago, that she was. Except her Mandalorian didn’t have the same creed. She can picture them in her mind, the dark armor, and enough time has passed that she can smile at remembering. “Yes, though perhaps not by your definition.”

Mando hummed next to her, “How so?”

“They didn’t follow the same guidelines about the helmet.”

He stiffened next to her but remained silent. He plucked a small scope from his pocket and rolled it between his fingers, looking down at it, before he said, “You agreed to come with me so quickly. You… you aren’t afraid of me?”

She sat up straighter, “Should I be?”

Mando’s head snapped back towards her with a firm, “No.”

“With Fennec…there was nothing left for me. We were jumping system jumping, waiting out the New Republic.” She fiddled with her glove, “I know it seems… counterintuitive to a lot of people but Mandalorians just equal safety to me after everything I’ve been through. So no, I was never afraid of you.”

He seemed to let a breath he was holding and murmured so quietly she almost didn’t catch it, “It’s nice.”

She smiled at that. It was strange, she guessed, to always be looking for a Mandalorian for a potential ally. The galaxy didn’t bother to try to understand them and feared them but Kestrel had always had fair dealings and honest exchanges with the warriors. It was others she shied from; deceitful people with agendas they held close to their chest. Just like Vev Dano.

Silence fell between them again. Kestrel checked the time – midnight – as Mando held the scope up to his visor, studying the museum. She followed his gaze and realized with a jolt that she could see a sliver of skin at his wrist. It was hard to tell in the darkness but it was bare, tanned skin and she found she couldn’t look away. Until –

“ _Fuck_!”

At his angry hiss, she was reaching for a blaster but his hand suddenly flattened against her shoulder and pushed.

“Get down!”

She ducked low against the shelf of the balcony and squinted towards the museum. He wordlessly handed her the scope and she looked through it anxiously. There was nothing…? Then she spotted it; movement by the entrance.  
Kestrel gasped, “Is that—?”

What were the odds?

“ _Yes_.”

Of all nights?!

“Fuck!”

  
It was a goddamn private tour. It had to be; a Bothan was tripping over himself, bowing repeatedly to a robed Cerean who couldn’t even be bothered to acknowledge him. The Bothan ushered the man inside and the pair disappeared into the museum.

Kestrel brought the scope down with a groan and sank further against the floor of the balcony. Irritation sparked up her spine and she muttered, “Just once, just _once_. Here.” She handed the scope over. “We can still do this, we just have to be extra careful.”

\---

He did consider calling the whole thing off; surely he could pick a planet and find work. But he could feel her eyes boring into the helmet – twenty thousand – and he knows they have to do it. Fuck. Instead, they were going to keep to their original timeline and opening and hope the tour with the benefactor was not going to be on the second floor.

She followed him wordlessly, both sticking to shadows of the museum, and stopped when he did with her eyes glued to him for their next move. Mando should’ve guessed she was a foundling, one that had had training under a fellow Mando’ade. After weeks of nearly everyone he crossed paths with looking to him for instruction, the familiarity was a welcome change. It was easy to fall into an intuitive understanding out in the field…even if her Mandalorian didn’t follow the creed, a fact he’d ruminate on later. The pair halted at the narrow ledge and he peered around the corner – there was their entry point. He motioned for her to go first and she slid past him before carefully stepping out and around.

Mando watched her warily, if not for his enhanced vision from the helmet she’d almost disappear into the night in her dark clothes and head covering. Her back was pressed flat against the wall, eyes trained gingerly on her feet as she slowly shuffled forward. She turned to look for him and nodded for him to follow. He paused, not exactly built for small spaces or ledges, before tentatively stepping out after her.

He cautiously looked down, noting with a twinge of regret that he _still_ did not have a jetpack. He inched after her and got to the corner when a speeder flew by. The resulting draft caught his cape and jerked him forward, he screwed his eyes shut and held his breath, trying to throw his weight back towards the wall when Kestrel’s hand shot out of the darkness and smacked against his chest. Her flat palm hit the beskar with a loud slap and with a surprising amount of force – enough for him to regain his balance and not plummet to his death. They stood there, frozen, her hand glued to his chest and his breath caught in his throat. He slowly turned his head towards her and could just make out her wide eyes, impulsively he tried to ease her, “That…that was close.”

She blinked incredulously and muttered, “That’s it?” Her hand dropped and she looked down, “Just follow me, step where I step.”

Mando watched her turn the corner and disappear from sight but not before he caught her mumbling to herself ‘ _giant of a man_ ’. He dutifully followed her path and soon was stepping back into the small walkway behind the museum. He was definitely getting a goddamn jetpack next time he was on Nevarro.

Kestrel materialized out of the shadow of the museum and pointed up, “Look – the window.” He followed her gaze and the window was just slightly cracked, not enough to be noticeable but just enough for a hand to slip through pull it open. He looked for a spot to shoot his grappling hook to climb but the museum was sleek and smooth, an art piece in itself. Mando spared a glance at his partner; all in black, sturdy boots, and form-fitting clothing – no loose fabric to snag anywhere.

He positioned himself below the window and nodded his head up towards their destination. She followed his gaze from the window back down to his interlocked fingers, “Can you throw me that high?”

He tried not to scoff, he really did, but she caught it anyway and rolled her eyes. She wasn’t an overly thin woman; she had strong, powerful legs and the wide hips, thick thighs, and the ample backside to support them. A soft figure that seemed to contradict the strength underneath, a _curvaceous_ soft figure... Still, it wouldn’t be a problem. He dealt with quarries more than twice her size regularly and that behemoth of a Mandalorian, Paz, on more than one occasion. He flexed his thumbs at her and she took a few steps back before running at him.

Her flat boot hit his palms hard and he closed his fingers around the top of it and launched her. Mando quickly turned to make sure she was getting up there ok, only to see her with one leg swung over the slight rail near the window. He watched her, view definitely _not_ terrible, in case he needed to catch her. She reached up, other leg still dangling, and slid her fingers into the narrow opening of the window and pulled it open wider. Her hands slowly pushed herself up, scanning the area inside before she dragged herself up the rest of the way. He lost sight of her for a moment before her head poked out.

“Mando! Shoot me a line.”

He obliged and shot the grappling hook up towards her. She deftly caught it and secured it to the frame before giving him a thumbs up and disappearing back into the building. He made quick work of climbing the building and slipped in behind her. The museum was dark and silent, the pair standing still and waiting. He quietly scanned the large room, switching his helmet to thermal imaging. Their immediate area, and as far as his scanner could detect, was clear of lifeforms for now.

She whispered to him, “Do you see a panel I can plug into?”

Another quick scan and he was watching her back as she used the electronic card to disable surveillance. He briefly watched her tap a few screens on the panel before turning his attention back to the room they were in, head on a swivel while they stood in a corner. The gallery had quite a high ceiling with freestanding walls to box in exhibits and direct the flow of foot traffic. They were just tall enough to block his line of sight across the entirety of the area, but he was confident they were alone for now.

He sensed movement behind him and his partner said quietly, “We’ve got maybe twenty minutes. It should be on this floor…do you think we should split up?”

  
It was a big building, though still a _museum_ and so he glanced around the walls with holo plaques and look for a map. He spotted a small, inactive holo off to the side near a pair of wide double doors and sauntered over. It activated at his motion and displayed a layout of the exhibits. Kestrel followed, standing by his side, as they carefully looked over the information. He frowned, there was nothing about an exhibit on gemstones or Mustafar. Mando scanned their options; the Jedi Order, the fall of the Galactic Republic, the rise of the Empire, the formation of the Rebel Alliance, a section on art in the time of war… nothing that jumped out at him.

“I’ll take the right, you take the left?”

She waited for his nod, then took off. He watched her for a moment; the way her steps were measured and quiet, how she kept a close eye on her surroundings while also scanning for the jewel. He’d almost told her to be careful, but it seemed redundant. They’d be safe once they got what they came for.

Instead, the Mandalorian took to the left side of the second floor and began to search. He skimmed briefly over the many paintings and sculptures. It was easily the largest section of the second floor and he quickly lost sight of Kestrel. There were angry dashes of paint that were abstract and hurting, stoic landscapes of cities that had existed for hundreds of years reduced to rubble, solemn portraits though some were hopeful with rising suns, nature retaking and beautifying buildings, smiling reunions. He wandered through the maze of walls to the next area. He walked briskly through the rise of the Empire, eyes only looking for a red diamond that was supposedly the size of his fist. He couldn’t bring himself to look any more closely than he needed to at the relics and holos of the Empire, sure that he’d find Aq Vetina as a footnote in a list of planets that were ravaged by war. There was a small section about the Great Purge of Mandalore, it was strange to see it summarized so neatly.

Mando caught the sound of movement and switched quickly to his thermal filter. It was in the outer hallway, too tall to be his partner, and appeared to be multiple signatures. The curator and benefactor. It had to be, the second signature was too tall to be anyone else. He quickly rounded the corner and sought the girl. He spotted her as she was about to disappear behind an exhibit wall and silently made his way to her. She turned and followed his approach as he got closer, stepping near enough to hear his low voice but –

“And _this_ , Zyn-Charr, is our wing on the last fifty years or so with an emphasis on the history of Coruscant and the fall of the Galactic Republic as well as the rise of the Empire.” The curator’s voice floated to them from across the other side of the room, only a handful of tall partitions between them.

Her head snapped back to his helmet and then darted about the room. He could see her mind working, his was too, looking for a place to hide. She focused on an exhibit behind her and jerked her head in that direction, indicating for him to come with her. The curator and patron were getting closer, their voices getting louder. The partners carefully made their way to the display and she stopped him right next to a couple of life-sized models wearing various designations of clone trooper armor and one on the end that was much closer to Mandalorian armor.

Kestrel aligned him with the models, hands adjusting his broad shoulders, and ducked behind him. He could feel her pulling at his cape, fluffing it to cover his back so she could hide behind him. She whispered, “Don’t move.”

He took a split second to check his positioning in relation to the models and straightened his back right as the visitors turned the corner and a small, handheld light lit up the walkway. Fortunately, it was dim and was just bright enough to briefly show the exhibits they were walking through. Mando held his breath, not daring to move, and wondered if the curator was really so unobservant.

Apparently, he was; the curator kept walking and talking, “…we are still working on expanding our Jedi collection. Many records lost, about them and their army, hard to decipher what is propaganda and rumor… ”

The Bothan and Cerean disappeared around the opposite corner and he allowed himself to breathe again. Behind him, Kestrel slowly sidestepped him and the armored model before stepping close to whisper, “Did you find it?”

He shook his head, “No.”

“Me either. We’re running out of time.”

Then he spotted it; behind a large replica of what he could only assume was the Jedi temple on Coruscant there was a door. He slipped behind the replicas and inactive holos, Kestrel on his heels. He stopped, looking for the visitors, while she slipped by him and swiped the electronic card in the reader. The door hissed open and the two entered quickly.

He did another quick look for thermal heat signatures and nodded to her. This part of the museum had low lighting on the walls that lead down a short hallway to offices and labs on either side. A tall window adorned the end of the hallway, Coruscant’s nonstop nightlife zipping by. Luckily for them, it was all thin transparisteel windows, and sitting on a desk in the furthest lab was an unmistakably large, red stone.

They glanced at each other and set off down the hallway. Kestrel gingerly tried the door, wincing when it noisily opened, and darted through to snatch up the gemstone. Lady Dano was correct; it dwarfed her hand and was heavy in her palm. The diamond shone blood-red in the dim light and Kestrel turned it over in her hand, admiring it, before zipping it into her hip bag.

There was a sudden thump from the door they previously entered.

_Shit_.

Mando wasted no time in going to the window; he carefully opened it and looked down. They were close to the main entrance, just off to the side and hopefully far enough away that they could slip away into the night unnoticed. He secured his grappling hook to the window frame, giving it a quick tug to test its hold. He opened his arm to the girl and she stepped onto the window frame with him before wrapping her arm around his back. He locked his arm around her and stepped out, the two of them descending down as the grappling hook’s line unspooled. He could feel the heat of her body through his grip around her back and waist. She was…just as soft as he suspected.

He opened his arm when they reached the ground, his fingers sliding across the small of her back as she took a small step away. She gave him a breathless smile and headed towards the speeder that was waiting for them.

\---

Kestrel sat in the cockpit and worked on taking down her hair as the Mandalorian sat in the pilot’s chair and studied their new tracking fobs. She let out a sigh of relief at feeling her hair loosen across her scalp and combed her fingers through it.

Lady Dano got her Mustafar fire diamond without a hitch and had handed over the tracking fobs, a holo pad, and twenty thousand credits with an unsettling smile. She was glad to be away from the Mirialan, something about her was unnerving. She did wonder what Dano was going to do with the diamond, they hadn’t asked, but she was curious. Sell it? Display it?

She stood, stretching with a groan, and turned her attention to Mando when he spun his chair towards her. He watched her silently, perhaps waiting for her to speak, so she said, “Have you decided which one we’re going to do first?”

He glanced down at the fobs in his fist again. “Bespin. Settle in, it’s a long way.”

She nodded, knowing it was at least a couple of days of hyperspace travel if not more. She paused, “Bespin it is. Let me know when we’re close, I have a contact we might be able to use.”  
He nodded slightly and she continued, “I’m going to get some rest.”

Kestrel could practically feel his visor following her movements as she exited the cockpit. She switched on the light in the storage area, now her quarters, and began to change for the night. She unbuckled the straps that wrapped around her hips and thigh to drop the hip bag onto the floor, followed by her boots and gloves. The black, form-fitting pants were next and she gladly sank into her bedroll after dimming the light.

It was easy to fall back into line with another Mandalorian, even if she could already tell they were very different. They had similar tactics and that was enough for her to conform to. As sleep began to take her, she drifted off thinking about his firm grip around her and his long fingers trailing across her back.


End file.
